In a Visayan Village.
The fountain on the corner, where the brown, barefooted girls with
bamboo water-tubes would gather at the noon hour and at supper-time,
was shaded in the heat of the day by a mimosa-tree. The _Calle de la
Paz y Buen Viaje_ (Street of Peace and a Good Journey), flanked by
sentinel-like bonga-trees and hedged in by a bamboo fence, stretches
away through the banana-groves toward the fantastic mountains. A
puffing carabao comes down the long street, dragging the heavy stalks
of newly-cut bamboo. The pig that has been rooting in the grass,
looks up, and, seeing what is coming, bolts with staccato grunts
unceremoniously through the bamboo fence.
In the little drygoods-store across the street, Felicidad, the
dusky-eyed proprietress, has gone to sleep while waiting for a
customer. She has discarded her _chinelas_ and her _piña_ yoke. Her
brown arms resting on the table pillow her unconscious head. Her
listless fingers clasp a half-smoked cigarette.
The stock of _La Aurora_ is a comprehensive one, including printed
cotton goods from China, red and green belts with nickel fastenings,
uncomfortable-looking Spanish shoes, a bottle of quinine sulphate
tablets, an assortment of perfumery and jewelry, rosaries and
crucifixes, towels and handkerchiefs, and dainty _piña_ fabrics. The
arrival of the _Americano_ is the signal for the neighbors and the
neighbors' children, having nothing in particular to do, to flock
around. The Filipino curiosity again!
On the next corner, where the wooden Atlas braces up the balcony,
the _Chino_ store is sheltered from the sun by curtains of alternate
blue and white. Here _Chino_ Santiago, in his cool pajamas, audits
the accounts with the assistance of the wooden counting frame, while
_Chino_ José, his partner, with his paintbrush stuck behind his ear, is
following the ledger with his long, curved finger-nail. Both _Chinos_,
being Catholics, have taken native wives, material considerations
having influenced the choice; but _Maestro_ Pepin says that,
nevertheless, they are unpopular because they work too hard and cause
the fluctuations in the prices. By pursuing a consistent system of
abstractions from the rice-bags, by an innocent adulteration of the
_tinto_ wine, these two _comerciantes_ have acquired considerable
wealth.
The bland proprietor will greet you with a smile, and offer you the
customary cigarette. And if the prices quoted are unsatisfactory,
they are at least elastic and are easily adjusted for a personal
friend. Along the shelf the opium-scented line of drygoods is
available, while portraits of the saints and _Neustra Señorita del
Rosario_, whose conical skirt conceals the little children of the
Church, hang from the wall. Suspended from the ceiling are innumerable
hanging lamps with green tin shades. A line of fancy handkerchiefs,
with Dewey's portrait and the Stars and Stripes embroidered in
the corners, is displayed on wires stretched overhead across the
store. Bolo blades, chocolate-boilers, rice-pots, water-jars, and crazy
looking-glasses are disposed around, while in the glass case almost
anything from a bone collar-button to a musical clock is likely to be
found. Santiago would be glad to have you open an account here and,
unlike the Filipino, he will never trouble you about your bill.
The market street is lined with _nipa_ booths, where _señoritas_ play
at keeping shop, presiding over the army of unattractive articles
exposed for sale. Upon a rack the cans of salmon are drawn up in a
battalion, a detachment of ex-whisky bottles filled with kerosene
or _tanduay_, bringing up the rear. Certain stock articles may be
invariably found at these _tiendas_,--boxes of matches, balls of
cotton thread, bananas, _buya_, eggs and cigarettes, and the inevitable
brimming glass of _tuba_, stained a dark-red color from the frequent
applications of the betel-chewing mouth.
Although the stream of commerce flows in a small way where the
almighty _'suca duco_ is the medium of exchange, gossip is circulated
freely; for without the telegraph or telephone, news travels fast in
Filipinia. The withered hag, her scanty raiment scarcely covering her
bony limbs, squatting upon the counter in the midst of _guinimos_,
bananas, and dried fish, and spitting a red pool of betel-juice,
will chatter the day long with the _señora_ in the booth across the
street. The purchaser should not feel delicate at seeing her bare
feet in contact with the spiced bread that he means to buy, nor at
the swarms of flies around the reeking mound of _guinimos_ scraped
up in dirty wooden bowls, and left in the direct rays of the sun.
Dogs, pigs, chickens, and children tumble in the dust. Dejected
Filipino ponies, tethered to the shacks, are waiting for their masters
to exhaust the _tuba_ market. Down the lane a panting carabao, with a
whole family clinging to its back, is slowly coming into town. Another,
covered with the dust of travel, laden with bananas, hemp, and _copra_
from a distant _barrio_, is being driven by a fellow in a _nipa_ hat,
straddling the heavy load. A mountain girl, bareheaded, carrying a
parasol, comes loping in to the _mercado_ on a skinny pony saddled
with a red, upholstered _silla_, with a rattan back and foot-rest,
cinched with twisted hemp.
At night the market-place is lighted up by tiny rush lights, burning
cocoanut-oil or _petrolia_. Here, on a pleasant evening, to the
lazy strumming of guitars, the village population promenades, young
men in white holding each other's hands, and blowing out a cloud of
cigarette smoke; _señoritas_, in their cheap red dresses, shuffling
hopelessly along the road. One of the local characters is entertaining
a street-corner audience with a droll song, while the town-crier,
with his escort of municipal police, announces by the beating of a
drum that a _bandilla_ from the _presidente_ is about to be pronounced.
Here you will find the Filipino in his natural and most playful mood,
as easily delighted as a child. A crowd was always gathered round
the _tuba_ depot at the head of the _mercado_, where the agile
climbers brought the beverage in wooden buckets from the tops of
_copra_-trees. A comical old fellow, Pedro Pocpotoc (a name derived
from chicken language), used to live here, and on moonlight nights,
planting his fat feet on the window-sill, like a droll caricature
of Nero, he would sing Visayan songs to the accompaniment of a cheap
violin. A talkative old baker lived a short way down the street with
his three daughters. They were always busy pounding rice in wooden
mortars with long poles, thus making rice-flour, which they baked
in clean banana-leaves and sweetened with brown sugar molded in the
shells of cocoanuts.
Sometimes a Moro boat would drop into the bay, and the strange-looking
savages in their tight-fitting, gaudy clothes would file through town
with spices, bark, and cloth for sale. From Bohol came the curious
thatched _bancas_, with their grass sails and bamboo outriggers, with
cargoes of pottery, woven hats, _bohoka_, and rattan. On the _fiesta_
days, Subanos from the mountains brought in strips of dried tobacco,
ready to be rolled up into long cigars, _camotes_, coffee-berries,
chocolate, and eggs, and squatted at the entrance to the cockpit in
an improvised _mercado_ with the people from the shore, who offered
clams and _guinimos_ for sale.
And once a month the town would be awakened by the siren whistle
of the little hemp-boat from Cebu. This whistle was the signal
for the small boys to extract the reluctant carabao from the cool,
sticky wallow, and yoke him to the creaking bamboo cart. Then from
the storehouses the fragrant _picos_ of hemp would be piled on,
and the longsuffering beast of burden, aided and abetted by a rope
run through his nose, would haul the load down to the beach. While
naked laborers were toiling with the cargo, carrying it upon their
shoulders through the surf, the Spanish captain and the mate, with
rakishly-tilted Tam o'Shanter caps, would light their cigarettes,
stroll over to Ramon's warehouse where the hemp was being weighed,
and, seated on sour-smelling sacks of _copra_, chat with old Ramon,
partaking later of a dinner of _balenciona_, chicken and red-peppers,
cheese and guava.
Much of the village life centers around the river. Here in the early
morning come the girls and women wrapped in robes of red and yellow
stripes, and with their hair unbound. In family parties the whole
village takes a morning bath, the young men poising their athletic
bodies on an overhanging bank and plunging down into the cool depths
below, the children splashing in the shallow water, and the women
breast-deep in the stream, washing their long hair.
Here also, during the morning hours, the women take their
washing. Tying the _chemise_ below the arms, they squat down near the
shore and beat the wet mass with a wooden paddle on a rock. Meanwhile
the children build extensive palaces of pebbles on the bank; the
carabaos, up to their noses in the river, dream in the refreshing
shade of overhanging trees. The air is vocal with the liquid notes
of birds, and fragrant with the heavy scent of flowers. A leaf-green
lizard creeps down on a horizontal trunk. The broad leaves of _abacá_
rustle in the breeze; the graceful stalks of bamboo crackle like
tin tubes. Around the bend the water ripples at the ford. At evening
you will see the tired men from the mountains, bending under heavy
loads of hemp, wade through the shallows to the cavern shelter of the
banyan-tree. Through the dense mango-grove comes the faint sound of
bells. The _puk-puk_ bird hoots from the jungle, and the black crows
settle in the lofty trees.
The covered bridge that spans the river near the mouth is a great
thoroughfare. Neither the arch nor pier is used in its construction;
it is anchored to the shore by cables. It is not a very rigid bridge,
and sways considerably when one is crossing it. Even the surefooted
ponies step a little gingerly over the loose beams that form the
floor. A curious procession is continually passing,--families moving
their worldly goods on carabaos, the dogs and children following;
_hombres_ on ponies, grasping the stirrups with their toes; a
padre with his gown caught up above his knees, riding away to some
confession; mountain people traveling in single file, and girls with
trays of merchandise upon their heads.
Down where the _nipa_ jungle thickens, fishing _bancas_ are drawn
up on the shore; and near by in a cocoanut-grove the old boatmaker
lives. The hull of the outlandish boat that he is carving is a solid
log. When finished, with its black paint, _nipa_ gunwale, bamboo
outriggers, and rat-lines made of parasitic vines, it will put out
from port with a big gamecock as a mascot, rowed with clumsy paddles
to the rhythm of a drum, its helpless grass sails flopping while the
sailors whistle for the wind. These boats, although they can not tack,
have one advantage--they can never sink. They carry bamboo poles for
poling over coral bottoms. In a fair breeze they attain considerable
speed; but there is danger in a heavy sea of swamping. When drawn up
on shore they look like big mosquitoes, as the body in proportion to
the rigging seems quite insignificant.
The little fishing village is composed of leaning shacks blown out
of plumb by heavy winds. Along the beach on bamboo racks the nets are
hanging out to dry. At night the little fleet puts out for Punta Gorda,
where a ruined watch-tower--a protection against Moro pirates--stands
half hidden among creeping vines. The nets are floated upon husks
of cocoanut, and set in the wild light of burning rushes. While the
men are working in the tossing sea, or venturing almost beyond sight
of land, the women, lighting torches, wade out to the coral reef and
seine for smaller fish among the rocks. Early the following morning,
while the sea is gray, the fishermen will toss their catch upon the
sand. The devil-fish are the most popular at the impromptu market,
where the prices vary according to the run of luck.
The town was laid out by the Spaniards in the days when Padre Pedro
was the autocrat and representative of Spanish law. The ruins of
the former mission and the public gardens are now overgrown with
grass. Sea-breezes sweep the rambling convent with its double walls,
tiled courtyard, and its Spanish well. The new church, never to be
finished, but with pompous front, illustrates the relaxing power
of Rome. Goats, carabaos, and ponies graze on the neglected plaza
shaded with widespreading camphor-trees. The two school buildings
bearing the forgotten Spanish arms are on the road to ruin and decay;
no signs of life in the disreputable _municipio_; the _presidente_
probably is deep in his _siesta_, and the solitary guard of the
_carcel_ is busily engaged in conversation with the single prisoner.
The only remains of Spanish grandeur in the village are the two
ramshackle coaches that are used for hearses at state funerals. Most
of the larger houses are, however, in repair, although the canvas
ceilings and the board partitions seem to be in need of paint. These
houses occupy the center of the town. They are of frame construction,
painted blue and white. The floors are made of rosewood and mahogany;
the windows fitted with translucent shell. Storehouses occupy the
first floor, while the living rooms are reached by a broad flight
of stairs. A bridge connects the dining-room with the kitchen,
where the greasy cook, often a Moro slave, works at a smoky fire of
cocoanut-husks on an earth bottom, situated in an annex to the rear.
A walk through the main street leads past a row of native houses, built
on poles and shaded by banana-trees. You are continually stepping over
mats spread out and covered with pounded corn, while pigs and chickens
are shooed off by the excitation of a piece of _nipa_, fastened to a
string and operated from an upper window of the house. A small _tienda_
opens from each house, with frequently no more than a few betel-nuts
on sale. The front is decorated with the faded strips of cloth or
paper lamps left over from the last _fiesta_, while the skeleton of
a lamented monkey fixed above the door acts as a charm to keep away
bad luck. A parrakeet swings in the window on a bamboo perch, and
in another window hangs an orchid growing from the dried husk of a
cocoanut. Under the house the loom is situated, where the women weave
fine cloth from _piña_ and banana fibers--and the wooden mortar used
for pounding rice. After the harvest season it is one of the Visayan
customs to inaugurate rice-pounding bees. Relays of young men, stripped
for work, surround the mortar, and, to the accompaniment of guitars,
deliver blows in quick succession and with gradually increasing speed,
according to the measure of the music.
In the cool shade of the _ylang-ylang_ tree a native barber is
intent upon his customer. The customer sits on his haunches while
the operation is performed. When it is finished, all the hair above
the ears and neck will be shaved close, while that in front will be
as long as ever. The beard will not need shaving, as the Filipino
chin at best is hardly more aculeated than a strawberry. The hair,
however, even of the smallest boys grows for some distance down the
cheeks. The Filipino, when he does shave, takes it very seriously,
and attacks the bristles individually rather than collectively.
You will not remain long in a Filipino town without the chance of
witnessing a native funeral. A service of the first class costs
about three hundred _pesos_; but for twenty _pesos_ Padre Pedro will
conduct a funeral of less magnificence. The padre, going to the house
of mourning where the band, the singers, and the candle-bearers are
assembled, engineers the pageant to the church. The dim interior
will be illuminated by flickering candles burned in memory of the
departed soul. Before the altar solemn mass is held, intensified by
the deep tolling of a bell. Led by three acolytes in red and white,
with silver crosses, the procession moves on to the cemetery on
the outskirts of the town. The padre sheltered by a white umbrella,
reads the Latin prayers aloud. A small boy swings the smoking censer,
and the singers undertake a melancholy dirge. The withered body, with
the hands crossed on the breast, clothed all in black, is borne aloft
upon a bamboo litter, mounted with a black box painted with the skull
and bones, and decked with candles. Women in black veils with candles
follow, mumbling prayers, the words of which they do not understand.
The cemetery is surrounded by a coral wall, commanded by a gate that
bears a Latin epigram. The graves, as indicated by the mounds of
dirt, are never very deep, and while a few are guarded by a wooden
cross, forlornly decorated by a withered bunch of flowers, most of
the graves receive no care at all. There may be one or two vaults
overgrown with grass and in a bad state of repair. Around the big
cross in the center is a ghastly heap of human bones and grinning
skulls--grinning because somebody else now occupies their former
grisly beds, the rent on which has long ago expired.
To the Visayan mind, death is a matter of bad luck. It is advisable
to hinder it with _anting-antings_ and medallions; but when it comes,
the Filipino fatalist will take it philosophically. To the boys and
girls a family death is the sensation of the year. It means to them
nine days of celebration, when old women gather at the house, and,
beating on the floor with hands and feet, put up a hopeless wail,
while dogs without howl dismally and sympathetically. And at the
end of the nine days, the soul then being out of purgatory, they
will have a feast. A pig and a goat will be killed, not to speak of
chickens--and the meat will be served up with calabash and rice; and
visitors will come and look on while the people eat at the first table;
and the second table and the third are finished, and the viands still
hold out. But these are placed upon the table down below, where _hoi
polloi_ and the lame, blind, and halt sit down and eat. And back of
all this superficiality lies the great superstitious dread by means
of which the Church of Rome holds such authority.
I got to know the little village very well--to join the people in their
foolish celebrations and their wedding feasts. I was among them when
the town was swept by cholera; when, in their ignorance, they built
a dozen little shrines--just _nipa_ shelters for the Holy Virgin,
decorated with red cloth and colored grass--and held processions
carrying the wooden saints and burning candles.
Then the locusts came, and settled on the rice-fields--a great cloud
of them, with whirring wings. They rattled on the _nipa_ roofs like
rain. The children took tin pans and drums and gave the enemy a noisy
welcome. But the rains fell in the night, and the next morning all
the ground was strewn with locusts trying heavily to fly. The ancient
drum of the town-crier ushered in the day of work, and those who took
this opportunity to pay their taxes gathered at the _municipio_--about
a hundred ugly-looking men. They were equipped with working bolos,
with their blades as sharp as scythes for cutting grass, and, looking
at them, you were forcibly reminded of another day, another army
with a similar accouterment. Even the _presidente_ went barefooted
as he gave directions for the work. Some were dispatched for _nipa_
and bamboo, while others mowed the grass around the church. Another
squad hauled heavy timbers, singing as they pulled in unison.
On Sunday mornings a young carabao was killed. The meat hacked off with
little reference to anatomy was hung up in the public stall among the
swarms of flies. Old women came and handled every piece, and haggled
a good deal about the price. Each finally selected one, and swinging
it from a short piece of cane, carried it home in triumph. Morning
mass was held at the big _simbahan_, where the doleful music of the
band suggested lost souls wailing on the borders of Cocytus or the
Stygian creek. Young _caballeros_ dressed in white, the _concijales_
with their silver-headed canes and baggy trousers, and the "_taos_"
in diaphanous and flimsy shirts that they had not yet learned to tuck
inside, stood by to watch the _señoritas_ on their way to church. The
girls walked rather stiffly in their tight shoes; but as soon as mass
was over, shoes and stockings came off, and the villagers relaxed
into the bliss of informality.
I learned, when I last went to _La Aurora_, that Felicidad was going
to be married; that the banns had been announced last Sunday in
the church. The groom to be, Benito,--or Bonito as we called him on
account of his good looks,--had recently returned from college in Cebu,
bringing a string of fighting cocks, a _fonografo_, and a piebald
racing pony. "When he sent me the white ribbon," said Felicidad,
"I was surprised, but mamma said that I was old enough to marry him--I
was fourteen--and that the matter had been all arranged. And so I wore
the ribbon in my hair, and also wrote my name _Felicidad_ beneath his
on the card that he had sent. And after that, when we went walking,
the _dueña_ was unnecessary."
She confessed naïvely to a serenade under her balcony, of which I
seem to have retained a hazy memory. And so the usual pig and goat
were roasted, and the neighbors' boys came in to help. The bride, with
orange-blossoms in her hair, the daintiest kid slippers on her feet,
and dressed in a white mist of _piña_, rode away in the new pony cart,
the only one in town. The groom was dressed in baggy trousers, with
a pink shirt and an azure tie. Most of the presents came from _Chino_
Santiago's store; but the best one was a beautiful piano from Cebu.
After the service in the church, a feast was held upstairs in the
bride's house. Ramon, the justice of the peace, the padre, _Maestro_
Pepin, all the _concijales_, and the _presidente_ were invited, and
the groom owned up that he had spent his last cent on the refreshments
that were passed around. It is the custom in the poorer families for
the prospective groom to bond himself out for a certain length of
time to the bride's father, or even to purchase her with articles of
merchandise. A combination of commercial interests was the result,
however, of the marriage of Bonito and Felicidad.